


Death For Me To Come

by littleflakdress



Series: With Neither Blade Nor Shield [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleflakdress/pseuds/littleflakdress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What if he's been here all along, in plain sight, waiting for the right opportunity?"<br/>"He?" The spymaster's lips curled at the corners. "Poison is a woman's game, Commander."<br/>- - -<br/>A murder mystery set in the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is set after my first piece "Four Days" but they don't have to be read together, although the first fleshes out relationships more and is definitely more light-hearted. It will update a bit slower than that one though. Again, I am a new writer so I welcome your feedback.
> 
> It's going to be a bit cheesy, fair warning. There is a little bit of goriness later on.

Life at Skyhold had a rhythm, a routine. Soldiers drilled and stood watch on rotation like clockwork. Vendors opened their modest stalls after breakfast and closed at sundown. Jim the Messenger was reliably drunk and vomiting behind the stables every Friday, where Horsemaster Dennet would reliably chew him out and bring him a flask of water anyway.  
So it was a surprise the following evening when Evelyn Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition and (as was common belief to the Skyhold faithful) particularly beloved of Andraste, rudely disrupted routine by choking on her wine and falling over in a dead slump.

***

Life in the Ostwick Circle had been mostly quiet. One heard stories about abusive templars, possessed mages; very little of it seemed to come by way of their backwater home.  
Ser Rand- he had been the one others warned her about. It wasn't a matter of preying on the beautiful or the powerful; he sought weakness and easy targets. He had cornered her, once, while he was still at Ostwick. Had smilingly knocked her training staff out of her hand at the end of the quiet hallway he'd found her in.  
“Nothing you can do without that staff, is there?” Evelyn had been too shocked to respond. Growing up in a large noble family, she had been somewhat ignored but mostly pampered and protected. She'd never seriously felt threatened or frightened before.

They'd called him The Carrion. She didn't want to know why.

Fortunately other guards had appeared before she could discern his true intentions, though she felt anxious and violated for weeks afterward. Rand had been shipped off to another station shortly thereafter. Her superiors had wanted to wash their hands of him and simply made him someone else's problem, a practice that her recently widened worldview now saw as one of the more troubling practices of the Templar order. As her eyes fluttered open, Evelyn thoughts moved from her former life to the room she was presently in. More specifically, her quarters in the main fortress tower. And somewhat disconcertingly, the very close face of Solas peering directly into her opening eyes.

“You can thank me later,” the elf said a touch smugly and turned to go.

“What happened? “ She struggled to sit up, Cullen moving in to assist her.

“Poison,” stated Leliana bluntly.

Evelyn surveyed the small army around her messy bed, noticing a bucket of vomit nearby, and felt a bit embarrassed. Her room was usually her private space; the fire crackled and the last of the evening light was streaming in through the west window, tinting the wood and stone yellow and blue. “Oh?”

“Thank the Maker Solas was able to purge it,” Cullen kept a hand supporting her back. 

“Or thank me,” Solas replied quietly, handing her a cup of minty tea to sip. She gave him a weak smile.

“Someone tried to kill me?” She realized how silly it sounded- people tried to kill her all the time. Still, it felt different- this had been at her home, not war. She was surprised at how shaken she felt by the invasiveness of it.

“We’re looking into it.” Leliana’s jaw was set firm, her visage dangerous in its cool impassiveness. For the hundredth time Evelyn was very glad the spymaster was on their side. ‘Looking into it’ was no doubt an understatement.

“Thank you. Everyone. I’ll be all right, I just need some rest.” The group filtered out, her ambassador Josephine surprising her with a quick hug.

Evelyn didn’t get up to investigate the sound of the door shutting and a lingering visitor climbing the steps back to her room.  
“You don’t have to say it,” she told Cullen as he reentered her room with a furrowed brow.

“Fine, I won’t”. He sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “But-”

She cut him off with a laugh. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Cullen,” she turned to face him, smiling warmly, “I promise I will be very, extra, really really careful.”

He contemplated her smile for a moment, then kissed her softly. “I’d stay here if I didn’t think it would cause a scandal.” 

“Maker forbid! “ she joked and returned the kiss. “We've been meaning to investigate reports of a rift in the Fallow Mire. Maybe it would be wise to leave Skyhold for a while.”

Cullen slowly moved away as as they heard her servant Nadie climbing the stairs. The motherly elf acknowledged the Commander’s bedside presence with a suspicious nod and prepared to draw a bath for the Inquisitor.

“To the Fallow Mire, then. We’ll shroud your troop movements this time.” He bowed.


	2. Chapter 2

Leliana had eyes everywhere, and since the previous evening they had been observing the comings and goings of the fortress kitchens.

A small elf, tucking her mousy hair behind her ears, sat at the spymasters table in the rookery and began to report without preamble. “Bad news”, she said in a hushed voice. “Kitchen staff are coming and going all day. On top of that it's a shortcut from the courtyard. It could be empty or bustling at any given moment. The assassin could have slipped in unnoticed at any time, done something to the drinks. “ Maren was an ideal agent, just another elven servant below most people's notice.

Leliana brow wrinkled imperceptibly; she had worried that would be the case. “Thank you. The herb gardens next. We’re not sure what they used to poison her, but look for the usual suspects.” The elf nodded and left without a formal dismissal. 

* * *

“May I ask why you're digging up my flower beds?” A bearded mage stood over Maren with his hands on his hips. The elf had been poking a kitchen knife into the furthest corners of the small garden off the main hall of the fortress. The herbary was a quiet refuge that had a fair share of visitors and a regular retinue of gardeners, to the point that she was surprised he’d taken note of her.

“My apologies, Adan.” The apothecary wasn’t the type to hide his opinion and Maren worried he’d be spreading rumors if she didn’t play this right. Going with her gut to trust him- he’d been with the Inquisition since their first home at Haven- she opted for honesty. “You spend most of your time in the herbary, yes? “ He nodded curtly. “Have you noticed anything- off? New plantings? Anything growing where it would be easily concealed?”

His stance relaxed. “Is this about the Inquisitor? Thought you’d be coming around. The answer is no. I know every square of this garden and no, I haven’t seen any magebane, deathroot, whatever it is you're looking for.” The elf furrowed her brow in thought, considering her next move. He gestured toward the far corner of the garden; a sunny section of the grey cobblestones was set aside for pots holding seedlings. The cool mountain air dried the soil out quickly and several assistant apothecaries were watering the containers. “I did, however, notice several of my pots missing.”

***

The Fallow Mire was ugly. No way to dress it up; it was a soggy marsh whose people lived hard lives. Evelyn Trevelyan made a sound of disgust in her throat on their arrival to the first decrepit fishing village that marked the territory, the rotted timbers barely providing shelter. 

Nonstop rain wasn’t helping the situation either. 

“Beautiful place,” remarked the Iron Bull as they crested a hill. She rolled her eyes but was internally grateful for his presence on this outing. She hadn't felt safe since the attack and the sheer mass of her Qunari companion was comforting. She had opted to travel with a small group, not wanting to draw attention to herself. 

They had only been camped a day- long enough to establish some tentative Inquisition territory and take a preliminary survey of the local resources- when the raven arrived. The small camp watched the dark bird flutter to rest with trepidation. Their spymaster rarely sent good news so quickly after their departure. “Maybe Corypheus surrendered last night,” Evelyn joked weakly. 

Varric gently detached the note from the birds ankle and shook his head sadly. “It says there was another attack. Sorry, Inquisitor.” He looked straight at Evelyn. “One of our soldiers is missing and- it says Flissa’s dead.” There was a long silence. 

“Sorry, I know you're having a moment,” said Bull. “But who the hell is Flissa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-DUN! I warned you this would be cheesy.  
> I had to look up poison recipes for this part, ha.


	3. Chapter 3

Leliana couldn't make any sense of it. From her perch in the rookery she surveyed the hushed movements in the library below; Skyhold residents and pilgrims had unrestricted access to the archives, although they were mostly mages who felt at home in the stacks. She had never been comfortable with the security oversight; even books were valuable.

Flissa wasn't important. It was harsh, but there it was. When she'd run the Singing Maiden tavern in Haven, she may have made a fair target. The spymaster could understand the former tavernmaster passing along the right information to the wrong person, getting in over her head. But since Corypheus' destruction of the village and their resettlement at Skyhold, Flissa had been initiated as a Chantry sister. She'd spent her days growing healing herbs and tending the garden, as inoffensive a life as one could imagine. To add to the confusion, no one could find Regis, one of the new recruits, though whether this made him a suspect or possible victim had yet to be discovered. Leliana shook her head. It didn't make sense, and it wasn't right. 

“Is there anything else you can think of? Any interactions she may have had with Regis? A grudge he may have held against her, a friendship?” she asked the women before her softly. If this were a true interrogation she could have been terrifying, but she was interviewing the dead woman's few friends, adding any mental notes she could to the poorly sketched picture of Flissa she'd formed in her head. This situation called for a compassionate approach. She gave a soft smile to the middle-aged woman across the table to put her at ease. 

“No, she didn't even know most of the soldiers. Flissa was devout, “ replied Annette, an assistant apothecary who'd worked with her. “She was so grateful, you know?” Tears pooled in the her eyes. “She thought she was going to die in Haven- we all did. And there she is, trapped in her own tavern, fire everywhere -” a sniffle and an escaped tear- “ and here comes the Herald of Andraste herself, there to take her hand and pull her out.” The woman shut her eyes. “She was never a true believer, not really, until that day. That day changed everything. “

_For all of us,_ thought Leliana.

*** 

“I can find no other connection, Commander. We have to consider the possibility that this .. person. .. attacks at random. A madman, not an assassin. “

“Neither idea sits particularly well with me,” Cullen sighed as the Inquisition's advisors picked at their dinner in the Heralds Rest that evening. The tavern was warm and brightly lit, and Maryden the resident bard had hurriedly arrived after them to perform, no doubt to curry future favors with the group. On Leliana's advice, they had been changing up their routines. “Perhaps we should consider a quarantine." 

Leliana eyebrows raised. It would be economically damaging to close their gates, and undoubtedly slow progress on their larger goals. 

“No one in or out? Very impractical, “ Josephine stated with some alarm.

The group paused their conversation while Cabot, the dwarven barkeep, placed another round of wine on the table. Maryden's voice carried a cheerful tune about murdering nobility with arrows. The three stared at their drinks for a moment, then met each other's eyes and laughed nervously.

"What if he's been here all along, in plain sight, waiting for the right opportunity?" Cullen mulled.

"He?" The spymaster's lips curled at the corners. "Poison is a woman's game, Commander." She sipped her wine and the others followed suit. “A quarantine is something to consider. When the Inquisitor returns she can have the final say.” She shifted slightly toward Cullen. “I promise I'll minimize her risk if we do so.”

He nodded absentmindedly, then looked day her suspiciously. They had been keeping their fledgling relationship under fairly tight wraps. “I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that?" 

The conversation quickly stopped as Sutherland, one of their more enthusiastic field agents, approached the table with a smile and several sheafs of paper. As he began laying out his plans for a raid on nearby mines, Maren approached Leliana and drew her away with a surreptitious tap on her shoulder. Anyone watching would assume the elf, head bowed, was receiving orders. 

“Spymaster, I’ve found something.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You can rule out Regis as a suspect,” Maren said without humor as they bent over the soldier’s corpse. “Poor kid.”

Leliana and the elf stood atop a crumbling guard tower, one of several spots in the ancient fortress that had yet to be repaired. The parapet offered a spectacular view of the surrounding blues and whites of the snow-capped peaks around Skyhold; peering over the edge one could survey the entirety of the Inquisition’s forces camped on the plains below.

Maren had conducted a careful search of the area since speaking with Adan. It was here on the rarely-used landing she had finally popped her head through the trapdoor and found the recruit with rough wounds in his back. After his time in the frosty air the blood has frosted over and frozen in a puddle on the stony floor.

Leliana, still in a crouch, ran her finger over the puddle and cocked her head toward the small planter tucked into the corner. “Looks like our recruit stumbled on our poison before us. Probably by accident. Taking a tour of his new home, perhaps?”

Maren shivered as an icy breeze passed over their exposed spot. She inspected the mature plant; Deathroot, just old enough to be harvested recently, left on the forgotten tower to grow in peace. A small bed of rags surrounded the pot to protect it from the cold. "That explains one thing... we didn't have any poisonous species until our surveyors brought some Deathroot back from the Western Approach last month. Someone has been patient, boss." 

Leliana nodded in agreement. "Right place, wrong time. Whoever has been growing this found him and attacked from behind. Let’s have the surgeon take a look at these wounds. Quietly. “ She sighed. “I’ll tell the others- we’re shutting this place down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're dropping like flies now! Any theories?


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the bad memories, Evelyn had wanted to return. Haven had changed her life- in a matter of days she'd gone from an obedient, soft-spoken mage to terrified prisoner to religious icon. She was surprised to realize it had been months since she'd last fought the idea of divine intervention in her life. Haven had been the start of that.

She couldn't explain why she'd insisted on their visiting now, but it felt right after what had happened to Flissa. This was the only place she'd truly spent any time with the woman. After closing the rift in the Fallow Mire, they'd detoured to the ruined village on the way back to Skyhold.

The gates were destroyed but recognizable. She meandered to the small cottage that had been hers during their time their; she'd grown fond of the cozy wood - timbered hut. Now it lay dark and blackened, snow piling in the open eaves and wild elf root taking over the grounds. The atmosphere was thick and quiet, a soft snow falling in the dusk. This was a graveyard.

“Good times,” said Varric quietly as he looked at the remains of the tavern. “I didn't think we'd make it out of here, you know. Especially you.”

“Thanks Varric,” Evelyn replied sarcastically. 

“Hey, take it as a compliment. Beating the odds and all that.”The dwarf kicked aside a charred timber but, seeing the edge of a leg bone underneath, thought better of it. 

“That’s odd,” the Inquisitor stopped in her tracks and stared at the remains he’d uncovered.

“Not really,” he replied, “it’s not like we could recover all the bodies after the attack.” 

She shook her head. “I was here though, at the tavern. Flissa was the only one left inside. I know, I pulled her out myself.” 

Bull hoisted aside the timber with alarming ease and bent to examine the bones underneath. “Looks like a female- younger- late teens, early twenties maybe?” Varric looked disturbed. “And don’t ask how I know.”

“It was chaos,” Varric tried to reassure Evelyn as he saw the distressed look on her face. “You couldn’t have saved everyone. Hell, she may have been dead even before you found Flissa.” 

“I thought I'd die too,” she admitted, her voice sounding uncomfortably loud. She clutched her beloved oak staff to her chest, a reassuring tic she'd developed, and suddenly longed for the comfort of her quiet room at Skyhold, for Nadie's mothering, for Cullen's presence. “I was so scared.”

“Could have fooled me,” the dwarf smiled as they made their way to the shell of the former chantry. It was in that battle he’d seen another side of her, had lost his doubts. He hadn’t admitted it yet, but her unexpected valor and survival had quietly converted him to one of the faithful, not matter how much he joked about it.

“That's just it… for the first time in my life it didn't matter how scared I was. I knew what I had to do and I did it. I didn't even think about it.” 

Bull braced his hands on the edges of the door frame, his large figure silhouetted in the dying light. “That's what the true test is. Knowing your fear and running straight into it."


	6. Chapter 6

Maren was frustrated. She’d been killing time while the surgeon examined Regis' body, reinterrogating poor Jim who swore up and down he hadn’t seen anyone suspicious enter the kitchens Friday night. Of course, he’d been sauced, so she didn't put much stock in his word.

In truth, she was beginning to panic. The Inquisitor was due to return that evening and deep down, she desperately wanted to do right by Leliana. The woman was the first to see her value, to give her purpose. Now she paced in front of the infirmary.

The surgeon stepped out of the low stone building tucked into the corner of the main courtyard and carefully shut the door behind her, hiding the gruesome sight within. “Well, no doubting the cause of death” she stated grimly. "All wounds in the back- must have taken him by surprise. Would have been pretty quick at least. From what I’ve treated in the past I’d guess it was a medium-sized, blunter blade. Not a professional’s knife or a well-maintained sword. Probably something more everyday. Maybe a butcher’s knife or a small axe?” She shrugged. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

Maren shook her head. “It’s more than we knew before. Thank you.” When the door shut again, though, she kicked a clump of grass in frustration. Perhaps it was time to check the cellars again. Or search room by room. Take a salt-the-earth approach. She tucked her hair behind her pointed ears and wondered with a pang of anxiety if she could be released from her duties back into servitude. _There's an opening for a chantry sister,_ she thought bitterly.

The agent was beginning to walk away from the building when she suddenly stopped, turned her head toward the small niche of space between the back of the infirmary and the towering outer fortress walls. Duller human senses would not have picked it up, but whatever it was the elf noticed- a glint of light, an imperceptible clink, a familiar scent- it beckoned her toward the alcove. She was a brave woman but physically small and with no special skill but observation. Direct confrontation was not in her nature. So it was with some trepidation she swallowed her fear and peeked slowly around the corner. When she'd searched it before there had been nothing but spare groundskeeping supplies. But today she found something.

* * *  
After a day of hard travel, Inquisitor Trevelyan and her small force arrived to a shut gate as dusk approached. She was exhausted, had taxed her magic abilities in an effort to reach Skyhold quicker. The excited lookout had to be restrained from blowing the customary horn on her return; they quietly slipped into the courtyard of the locked-down fortress. Their spymaster greeted them at the entrance to the Great Hall.

“I hope you’re well, my friend. I have good news and bad news.” Evelyn and her inner circle instinctively broke off and began walking swiftly to the War Room to debrief. “The good news is, there have been no further attacks.” 

“And the bad news?” Evelyn threw open the wooden door to their sanctuary. 

“It may be nothing- but one of my agents has not reported in this evening. She was my primary contact on this matter.” She frowned, it was painful to admit she didn't know everything that happened there. “Skyhold is not a large place and I’m beginning to worry.”

“I have my guard rotations keeping an eye out,” Cullen added.

The Inquisitor sighed. “I’m sorry, Leliana. Please let me know if you find anything. For now I need some lyrium, a hot meal and a long rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've probably taken some liberties with the layout of Skyhold.


	7. Chapter 7

As night fell, the fortress' routine wound down like clockwork. Leliana, finishing a prayer in the small rookery shrine, prepared to take matters into her own hands. She was tired of losing her assets. And if she admitted it, she had a pang of guilt at putting the former servant into harm's way. She discretely slipped two lethally sharp daggers into her belt and began her slow, methodical search of the grounds.

The night was cool and clear, a waxing moon illuminating the courtyard. She quietly observed from the shadows as guards made their rounds, a few stragglers retired for the evening. The Herald's Rest was quieter than usual- spirits had been considerably dampened since the first attack. She observed one figure fling open the door of the tavern and crookedly walk across the cobblestones, humming one of Maryden's tunes.

"Jim, isn't it?" She asked politely as she stepped forward, startling the inebriated messenger. 

"Y-yes ma'am," stammered the terrified man, swaying to attention. 

"Have you spoken with Maren lately? Small elven woman, brown hair, brown eyes..."

She already knew the answer; he'd been on their list of people to question. She smiled reassuringly. 

"I already told her I didn't see anything!" Jim trembled slightly. "I wouldn't lie. I only want to help the Inquisitor! One time I saw her and the Commander-" Leliana waved him off. 

"When did you tell her this, Jim?"

“Earlier, when she was poking around the infirmary,” unsure of how to proceed, he awkwardly saluted her and hurried off toward the stables. 

She walked slowly toward the darkened building, smelling the cloying sweetness of medicines and the iron tang of dried blood, picking up the pace when she heard a faint whimper. In the dark corner behind the building was a cart blocking the area; with a burst of adrenaline she pushed it away and took in the small space before her. Some rags, a few shattered bottles, spare gardening tools. One of Adan's pots, now emptied. There on the ground lay Maren, slowly bleeding out from a deep wound on her shoulder, breath escaping in visible pants of fog in the cold night air.

Leliana held the elf in her arms, distress crossing her usually calm features. “Hold on Maren, it will be all right.” The elf’s eyes were glazing over.

“I know- I know,” she sputtered in a hoarse whisper.

“What do you know?” The spymaster asked wildly. Maren smiled weakly. “I smelled it- knew it was wrong. Dont know if it’s to hurt her, or anyone that touches it-" she gasped in pain. 

“What? Touches what?”

“The lyrium stores,” the elf's breath was slowing. “She's desperate now - getting sloppy. Unraveling. Found her tampering with the lyrium.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked Maren. Don't hate me.
> 
> I feel like chapter 8 was super rushed and I just tweaked it, but I'm still not very happy with it.


	8. Chapter 8

Evelyn hadn’t been able to sleep. She sat alone in the tiny chantry off the herbary. The mage wasn’t particularly observant, but she had felt guilty about not having the space restored to its former glory. Their resources had gone to the practical and she often felt she’d neglected the emotional needs of the residents.  


The door behind her creaked open, then shut. She didn’t pay much attention until she heard the click of the lock. Turning around, she blinked at a woman she only vaguely recognized. Middle-aged, brown hair, fairly unremarkable.  


Evelyn's words of greeting stopped in her throat when she looked at Annette’s eyes. Something was very wrong. Her eyes were frighteningly black, the pupils blown wide. In her right hand she clutched a hatchet, the type the gardeners used to hack small trees and stubborn bushes.  


“You're a fraud. You're no chosen of Andraste. The chosen wouldn't let innocent people die. Wouldn't save cursed mage lives while good people suffer.” The woman's words came out in a rush, the adrenaline peaking in her system. 

Evelyn stood up, clutching her staff, suddenly feeling woozy. She fell to the floor, clumsy and uncoordinated; vaguely registering that whatever the junior apothecary had put in her lyrium was taking effect.  


“Why are you doing this?” She shook her head, trying to regain control.  


Annette’s face screwed up in pain. “You failed. You failed all of us." 

“Whatever I did, I can assure you it wasn’t intentional. Whatever happened between you and Flissa-” At the mention of the dead woman's name, Annette squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw. 

“My daughter died because of that - bitch. My Mariel was in that tavern too and that woman- she didn’t care if you got my daughter, did she? She didn't even ask. You could have saved her,” tears began to roll from her eyes, “but you didn’t. Too busy saving everyone else’s hide. Saving your precious mages.” She refocused her black eyes on Evelyn. "Do you even know how painful burning to death is? Poison was a mercy." 

There was the sound of familiar voices shouting on the other side of the thick door; Evelyn could just make out Leliana’s muffled voice. _Poor Nightingale,_ she thought blurrily, _she wasn't able to save me after all._ She was fifteen again, flinching pathetically in the back of a Circle hallway. Struggling to focus her eyes, she replied, "I'm sorry about your daughter. I swear, I didn't even know she was there. I couldn't save everyone- I tried, I just couldn't."

Annette wasn't listening. With a cry she brought the hatchet down on the beloved staff, hacking it dangerously close to Evelyn's arm, splitting it in two after a few frantic whacks. She kicked away the part not held by Evelyn, then crouched down to look into her face with those frightening eyes, “Filthy mages. Helpless without your little stick, aren't you?”  


A shock of fear and resolve coursed through Evelyn, who gripped the measly remainder of her splintered staff like a totem as the last of her strength drained. “Not exactly,” she gasped, flinging her entire weight forward and plunging the jagged end into Annette’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guess right? Yeah, probably.
> 
> One last bit to go.


	9. Chapter 9

“You'll be glad to know your shadow has been called off,” Leliana informed Cullen quietly. The Inquisitor and her closest companions were gathered around a cluster of tables in the Herald’s Rest the following day, ostensibly celebrating the return of safety to Skyhold. No one felt much like celebrating; the afternoon rain came down in grey sheets and the atmosphere was somber. Cullen looked at his friend quizzically, wondering what kind of riddle this was. She continued, "I was having you watched. I wouldn't want anyone trying to get to her through you.” The Commander started to speak, no doubt to feign ignorance at her insinuation. Leliana held a hand up to stop him.  
“I know, Cullen. And I'm happy for you. Real love- or whatever this thing between you is- is a rare thing, especially in times like these. Plus you two aren't as sneaky as you think,” she said with a smile. The smile widened when she saw Maren enter the tavern, half carried by a surprisingly patient Adan. The elf moved stiffly, bandages wrapped thickly around her torso.  


“Wouldn’t miss this for the world, boss” said the small woman as Leliana helped her onto the bench. She idly wondered if their professional relationship was in danger of becoming an actual friendship.

Evelyn was talking quietly with Varric about Annette, no doubt letting him gather notes for his next serial.  
“But she wasn't a trained assassin, wasn't a monster… just a sad, broken woman. Corypheus killed her that day in Haven, she just hadn't died until now.”  


Varric interjected, “Bullshit. She killed two people.”  


She had to laugh. "Grief, pain... they eat you from the inside out. Make you do strange things." At this, Cullen took her hand. It was a simple, sweet gesture that they had never done in public, a fact that wasn't lost on her. To her surprise and a bit of disappointment, their friends either tactfully ignored it or already knew. Cabot set down another round- ale this time, she didn’t think she could stomach wine for a while. As Maryden began picking her lute, Evelyn clinked glasses with Leliana- an unspoken thanks for her efforts. She knew her failures weighed on her and she worried about the effect it would have on the woman. But there would be time enough later to worry, to celebrate. For now, this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I warned you it would be cheesy. I'm happy with some parts of the story, but ready for something a more character focused.  
> I've started "Little Lady", likely the last story in this series. Only vague ideas at this point, open to suggestions.


End file.
